My dad told me this once. For a wheat seed to come fully into its own, it must become wholly undone. The shell must break open, its insides must come out, and everything must change. If you didn’t understand what life looks like, you might mistake it for complete destruction.
—The Broken Way by Ann Voskamp
I haven’t written lately because I haven’t had much to say. And because some thoughts take longer to gestate than others. Sometimes, life has a way of washing over you like the ocean wave you didn’t foresee, and suddenly, you’re no longer thinking in words; you’re just trying to figure out which way is up and whether you can hold your breath long enough to survive.
Maybe it’s just me, but the older I get, the more I have to fight to hang on to hope and not surrender to cynicism. I have to work harder to see the glass half-full instead of half-empty. I worry more than ever. The way the world is, and with a house full of present and upcoming teenagers, I recognize how much I stand to lose and how little control I possess. And I simply don’t have enough—enough patience, enough energy, enough love. Many days feel like a battle, monotonous drudgeries at best. And I grow frustrated with myself that I can’t be more upbeat, less of a Debbie Downer, more like someone else, anyone else…
However, what I am being reminded of is that no one escapes life without struggles. They’re part of the cycle of life. Even if we lived in a utopian world, we would still wage war within ourselves. But like a forgotten memory, I am starting to recall a time when I knew better, a time when I was held suffering in greater esteem. Like birthing contractions, the pain is more intense when you fight it, when you try to eradicate its existence. I have forgotten that the best way to deal with suffering is to breathe, lean into it, and remember that insane pain can give birth to breathtaking beauty.
I guess the last few months have left me feeling a bit like a wheat seed—like my outer layer has been smashed open and my insides spewed carelessly about. It basically feels like total annihilation. But perhaps, if I can learn to accept the whole of life with grace, humility, and gratitude, this “destruction” can resurrect my suffocating soul.
The Orthodox Church has a saying, “Out of death springs life.” We serve boiled wheat at funerals and memorial services to physically remind ourselves that death is not the end but a beginning. It reminds us that sometimes we must be “undone” before becoming “done.”
With these words, hope begins budding; I can almost imagine it emerging as a hairlike-sprout from the rubble.
Although suffering is not something I feel the need to seek out, the frantic need to escape it slowly begins seeping away. Lately, I’ve felt like the only thing suffering cracks open is more pain. But, just as wind and water are capable of eroding granite, perhaps this suffering can shape and polish even my rough edges.
I hope and pray that with time and practice, my soul will learn to settle, lean in, and graciously accept all that comes to me with peace of soul and the firm conviction that all is sent for my benefit.
“Unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies…”
